


Variation In Size

by mojitobox



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Height Differences, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, height
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mojitobox/pseuds/mojitobox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is not short.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Variation In Size

John Watson does not think of himself as a small man.

Back straight, head forward, shoulders square, he does not think himself lacking in height or presence. He’s held guns and men—dead or dying—and seen empty deserts bleed oil and burn, taking whole towns in the wake of their greed-sparked fury. Heart worn on his sleeve regardless, corners of his eyes wrinkled like paper that’d been folded and unfolded once too often, scar tissue collected in the curve of his shoulder, John Watson likes to think himself an average sort of size.

There were days, once, long ago, when he felt less than his stature allowed—days when even his body seemed too large for the spirit it contained, days when grays and browns seemed to bleed too heavily and the price of living in a shell too large was too high for a damaged soldier with a shoddy leg to pay. Those were the days he felt small. Those days, darkness crept upon him with all the stealth of gunpowder and solitude, dampened ash in the place where a fire had once burned, fierce, in his heart.

But in the moments when he runs with Sherlock Holmes, in breathless seconds when the world rushes by and words spin about his head in time with the ridiculous timbre of Sherlock’s voice… These are infinite lifetimes where John Watson feels truly awake, truly present. On cold, bitter days, when the London air stings his throat and rubs his nose raw, against a backdrop of caution tape and flashing sirens, John Watson feels a blaze in his soul that he had sworn was swallowed up long ago. 

When John dashes about cobbled streets on the tails of his best friend, blood rushing in his ears and cheeks aching with laughter, there is no variation of size.

These days, these nights, these weeks, these months, John Watson is the tallest man in the world.


End file.
